


It's Called Fashion, Look It Up

by MidwesternDuchess



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Character Study, F/M, pre-reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:31:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"People are going to stare. Make it worth their while." -Harry Winston</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(While dancing around her identity, Ladybug discovers a common interest with Chat Noir.)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Called Fashion, Look It Up

“Just hold _still.”_

Chat presses his lips together, watching warily as his partner peers at the gash on his side. The cool evening breeze tousles his hair and his eyes gleam in the faint darkness. The part of him not losing his mind due to Ladybug’s proximity and gentle touches— _it’s only because you’re **bleeding** get your mind out of the **gutter,** alley cat_ —is slightly amused at the idea of two teenagers hanging out one hundred feet in the air on a rooftop like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Her gloved fingers brush over his wound and he hisses at the contact. Her touch is freezing—even through her gloves—and it feels like ice against his burning skin. She murmurs an apology, eyes narrowed behind her mask.

“What is this made of?” Ladybug asks, and Chat _knows_ she’s talking to herself—that offhanded, rhetorical, endlessly amusing monologue she partakes in every once in a while—but he can’t resist the Cheshire grin that splits his face as he eagerly opens his mouth—

She flicks her gaze up to his. _“Not_ boyfriend material,” she tells him flatly.

He heaves an overly put-upon sigh, and Ladybug rolls her eyes at his dramatics.

“You wound me, my lady,” he tells her, one hand clutched over his heart in mock injury.

“I think we can blame the akuma for that,” she replies breezily, her eyes still tracing the rip in his uniform and the blood leaking from it.

It stings something fierce, but Chat patiently waits for Ladybug to finish her inspection. He’s got plenty of time left in his Miraculous, and judging by the way his polka-dotted partner isn’t making any moves, she does as well. He doesn’t mind a few extra moments. In fact, he rather likes it.

“It’s gotta be some kind of Kevlar,” she mutters, tugging experimentally at the jagged edges of the tear. “I wish I could _feel_ it.” She frowns unhappily at her gloved hands.

His lips curl in amused puzzlement at her continued attention to his uniform.

“In all honesty, it’ll probably stitch itself up when I drop the transformation,” he explains. He offers a shrug. “It kind of has to. It’s not like I can take it to the drycleaners.”

She snorts at this, rolling her eyes fondly, and Chat just smirks back.

With a final glance at the gash, Ladybug pushes to her feet. “Well,” the fingers of her gloves are smeared with blood where she’d held them against his side. He tries not to be bothered by it. “In that case, we should probably head home.”

She offers him an awkward but decidedly friendly wave—they’re both so new at this, trying to adjust to their powers _and_ to each other—but he isn’t quite ready for the night to end.

“Are you some sort of seamstress, my lady?” he calls, grasping at whatever he can to strike up a conversation. She goes stock-still, eyes widening with surprise at his words, and he hastens to add a joke. “Just, you know, in case I need alterations or anything, I know where to go.” He flashes what he hopes is a reassuring smile, but she’s still watching him carefully—eyes a bit too wide, limbs a bit too stiff.

He recognizes that look. It’s the one she wears when he gets too close to her identity.

“Sorry,” he blurts out. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. She gave you an out and everything. You’re not unlucky, Chat, you’re an **idiot.**_ “I’ll just—” he gestures blindly at the Parisian skyline behind him as he walks backwards across the roof, trying to physically distance himself from her look of discomfort. “Sorry.”

Their eyes clash in the near-dark—stunned sapphire against uneasy emerald. The need to escape her frightened gaze—and the knowledge that he’s responsible for it—forces Chat to turn on his heel and prepare to bound across the rooftop, cursing himself all the way home.

“I like fashion.” The frankness of her voice is belied by the way her words shake. He chances a backwards glance and sees Ladybug is staring after him, a determined tilt to her chin, hands fisted tightly at her sides. “Clothes, material, designs, stitching. I just…fashion.”

“Fashion,” he repeats. He bobs his head in agreement. “Of course. Naturally.”

She swallows hard, still staring at him, but the blatant look of fear in her eyes has ebbed, and she forces herself to drop the tense set to her shoulders.

“I like fashion too,” he offers up. Partly because, well, being the son of and model for Paris’ top designer allows him such claims and partly because he’ll absolutely hate himself if he doesn’t get her to smile again.

Ladybug pulls a face, lips twisting in an incredulous smirk. It’s not quite the smile Chat had been fishing for, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Yeah?” she replies, and her tone drips doubt. She chuckles quietly to herself, reaching up to smooth down some hair that had escaped her pigtails during their earlier fight. “Chat, I’m fine. I overreacted. Don’t feel like you have to pretend—”

“I’m not pretending.” The words are out of his mouth before he is even aware of it. His voice is so low and fierce the for a moment, he doesn’t even recognize it as his own. Ladybug breaks off, blinking up at him in surprise. He forces a smile to try and ease the sudden seriousness.

“I have complete faith in you, my lady,” he drops into a formal bow, dully cheered that he has an action that hides his face so readily available and completely in character. “I have no reason to pretend to be anything that I’m not.”

He stares down at his boots as silence stretches between them, dully amused that he’s survived all these deadly akumas only to die from embarrassment. _Magnifique._

His ears twitch as she takes a few steps forward, her footfalls landing softly against the rooftop.

“Chat?” Her voice is hesitant and wary, but it’s real and warm and _there._

He glances up at her through his bangs, quirking a questioning eyebrow. She offers him a small half-smile, holding out her hand for him to take. “I’m glad.”

Her gloves are still bloody but he grips her hand tightly as he straightens.

“I’m not pretending either,” she tells him quietly, a small smile play at her lips. Her eyes shine. “We’re partners, Chat. I know I haven’t told you everything, but I’ve never lied to you.”

A peculiar warmth fills his chest, heating him from the inside out as they stare at each other. It’s not as though he’s ever thought her dishonest—and even if she has, it’s not like it’s any of his business—but her reassurance settles some something within him he didn’t even know had needed it.

They stare at each other for a spell, before she gently pulls back her hand, resting it on her hip as she smirks up at him.

“So, fashion,” she arches an eyebrow over the edge of her mask. “I’m intrigued.”

He grins cockily at her. “Did you see Gabriel Agreste’s fall line?” he asks, surprising himself with his own daring. _A little close to home, there, Adrien._

But the small breath of excitement that escapes her, and the way her eyes light up like the _sun_ are more than worth it. Their gentle chatter fills the night as they settle comfortably into the safe, middle ground of fashion, conversation flowing easily between them, feet dangling off the rooftop.

Their Miraculous’ beep in almost perfect unison, startling Ladybug in the middle of her analysis of a particular pea coat belonging to the collection that Chat faintly recalls modeling a few weeks ago. Her hand shoots up to touch her ear, as he instinctively curls the fingers of his ring hand.

They flash each other apologetic smiles, and Ladybug climbs to her feet. “I’ll go first, if you don’t mind,” she says, stretching her arms above her head. Chat attaches his gaze to a nearby office building to keep from staring. “I’ve got a project for school to finish.” She drops her arms, and Chat glances back to see her smiling down at him.

“See you next time?” she asks.

He offers her a friendly salute. “Of course,” he replies. “Partner.”

She cracks a smile at the name, and he grins back. Then she’s pulling her yo-yo off her belt and is sprinting across the rooftop with such elegance and finesse, Chat has to remind himself that she’s only been doing this as long as he has. She wasn’t _born_ wearing that snug-fitting polka-dotted uniform. She’s a student. She probably wants to be a fashion designer one day.

He briefly entertains the idea of modeling one of her designs, before he pushes to his feet, letting the night swallow him as he takes off in the opposite direction.

He wonders if his father still has any of his old sketches lying around—already forming a story as to how he came across them when he presents them to her the next time they see each other.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS SO FUCKING DIFFICULT. CHRIST ALMIGHTY.
> 
> Okay so I know this isn’t really that spectacular, but I’m going to keep toying around with these two until I can get their personalities down. If you guys have any advice on where I went wrong, help a girl out.
> 
>  
> 
> _I’m just low-key pissed because they are so like Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask and I could write about those fucking dweebs all day but when it comes to Miraculous I just struggle so hard like wtf_


End file.
